


Take Me Away

by sleapea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternative Title: Keith is Struggling, Drunk Keith (Voltron), Except Allura and Adam are both alive bc it's my freakin city now, Future AU, Gala Setting, Jealous Keith (Voltron), M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, That's it, This piece exists because I wanted to write drunk & pining keith, Unresolved Romantic Tension, also listEN, broganes, he's been through a lot I wanted to let the man get drunk asdfgh, nobody judge shiro, they are soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-14 01:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleapea/pseuds/sleapea
Summary: Lance returns to Keith’s bag, sets himself slowly to his knees as he opens the main compartment. He starts talking about something, laughing, but Keith doesn’t register what he says as his sleeve slips slightly over the smooth arc of his shoulder. Keith can’t help the groan that escapes him.“Lance,” he says, pleads, and Lance stops his cheery little story. In the silence, Keith takes in how ruffled and open Lance has become, no doubt due to the alcohol. He’s a little breathless, cheeks and shoulders flushed a deep pink, and Keith lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “You’re killing me.”Lance stiffens slightly. He looks up, meets Keith’s gaze. He’s wearing the same expression he always does when he’s confused— the pinched brows, the small, jut of his lower lip as he pouts. Lance doesn’t even know he does it, and to Keith, that makes it all the more endearing.“What do you mean?” he asks quietly.“Killing me,” Keith whispers, rests his head in his hands.





	Take Me Away

**Author's Note:**

> sorry keith. i had to do it to ya

Keith leans against a pillar surrounding the peristyle-like courtyard of the Coalition Gala this year, taking a brief reprieve from the main crowd. He sighs, absently swirls his drink in hand. 

Exactly one year after the war ended, they’d thrown the first Coalition Gala in Altea in celebration of their victory. Holding the Gala is considered an honour, as representatives from each planet attend from Royals to government officials. It’s a symbol of peace, unity, remembrance, and, of course, one _wild_ party. 

This year, the Gala’s being held on a distant planet a few galaxies from Earth called Mala. Although it’s a smaller, lesser known planet, they don’t skimp on luxury. The courtyard where the Gala is being held is large and full of exotic, colourful plants with winding vines and full blooms that fill the area with a sweet, tangy scent comparable to citrus. The dance floor in the centre is extravagant to say the least, made of the same, polished marble-like stone that the pillars are carved from. There is no roof, so Keith watches as the planet’s second sun slowly sinks below the horizon, painting the sky and the scene before him a brilliant mix of bright oranges and deep reds. The courtyard is slowly starting to come alive with shimmering lights as it gets darker, making the marble glow soft in reflection. It’s stunning. 

But it’s also _ hot. _The air is heavy, sticky and sugary sweet as it clings to his skin. It has him pink in the cheeks already, despite only being on his first drink. Keith opted to wear his blade uniform to the Gala this year, as he always has, but admittedly he’s starting to regret that decision as he feels sweat start to bead at his temple. Many of the others chose to wear the Malakai’s customary formal wear out of respect, like Lance, for example. 

Lance, who’s currently standing by the bar in the middle of the courtyard directly across from Keith, laughing and chatting away with Allura without a care in the world. Keith’s been trying not to stare but, no matter how hard he tries, his eyes are always drawn right back to him. 

While the air is slowly starting to dishevel Keith, it suits Lance beautifully. Being a hot planet, their clothing here is designed to be light, sheer, and flowy, and their formal wear is no exception. Its style is similar to a toga, and it’s made of a shimmery white fabric that catches the light when the wearer moves. On Lance, it lays loosely over one shoulder, drapes across his chest, and bunches elegantly at his waist. The garment is long enough that the hem sweeps lightly against the floor as he moves, and it has a long slit cut up the side that reveals one of his legs almost in its entirety. Unlike many of the other guests also clad in Mala’s formal wear, he wears no jewelry. Instead, on the high arches of his cheekbones, curving to frame his eyes, is a dusting of glittering, golden flecks that bring out their blue. So much of Lance’s bronze, freckled skin is on display under the warm light of the courtyard that it’s like he doesn’t even need the outfit to glow. 

Lance laughs at something Allura says, and Keith can't hear him at this distance, especially with all the background chatter, but he doesn't have to. He watches as Lance's eyes crinkle at the edges, as he smiles cute and crooked with one, prominent dimple carved into his cheek. 

He has Keith completely breathless, unknowingly, from almost 15 feet away. 

Allura sets a hand on Lance’s shoulder, and instantly, Keith feels himself stiffen. It’s instinctive, instantaneous, but Keith kicks himself for it regardless. Lance and Allura have been broken up for over a year, so there’s no reason for this to still bother him. Allura is his _ friend_. As well, if anyone, _ Keith _ is the person who monopolizes most of Lance’s attention these days. They’re partners, after all. 

When Kolivan and Krolia took over the Galra empire shortly after the war ended, the leadership role for the Blade of Marmora had naturally fallen to Keith. At the time, with the war ended and the coalition united, there was no longer a need for the Blade as it existed. As such, Keith slowly began transitioning the Blade into a humanitarian relief organization in order to support communities across the galaxy as they recovered from the war. 

Although Keith is the one who spearheaded the Blade’s transition, he knows he wouldn’t have made it as far as he has without Lance by his side. 

A little over a year ago, Keith asked Lance to join him in leading the Blade of Marmora. As a humanitarian group, the BOM started to become more and more about diplomacy as they travelled from planet to planet as representatives of the coalition. Like any competent soldier, Keith knows where his weaknesses lie, which is why he needed Lance on board. He’d asked him impulsively, without considering anyone else for the job— he didn’t _ want _ anyone else— and, luckily for him, Lance had agreed wholeheartedly. 

Since then, Lance has become not only Keith’s right hand, but the entire face of their activism. He makes up for most everything Keith lacks with his people skills, diplomacy, and uncanny ability to set everyone around him at ease. Lance always knows just what to say and when to say it, and without him, Keith doesn’t know where he’d be, or how far he would have gotten in the first place. 

Keith’s drawn out of his thoughts by the feeling of a soft whoosh of air running up the back of his arm. Ezor materializes next to him with a small giggle and leans into his peripheral. 

“Boo,” she says in her usual playful lilt, already smiling small and coy. Keith doesn’t even flinch. 

“I was wondering when you were going to come out,” he says plainly. He takes a small sip of his drink without meeting her eyes.

“Can’t sneak up on you,” she chides, steps next to him with a grin. Ezor was one of Lotor’s generals for years, and a spy for longer. Her experience, coupled with her mother’s species’ unique ability to camouflage into their surroundings, make her particularly adept at hiding. 

Keith raises a brow. He tries not to smile, but the corners of his mouth quirk anyway. He’s pretty sure she could sneak up on death unnoticed— Ezor is only caught when she wants to be, and they both know it. At his expression, she laughs, the sound light and tinkling like a bell. She turns on the ball of her heel to face the courtyard, beholds the festivities in silence along with him for a moment. 

“So.... how long are you going to wait?” She asks. 

“Wait for... what?” Keith frowns, and his eyebrows furrow the way they always do when he Doesn’t Get It™. 

“Before you ask Blue to dance?” She speaks casually, as if commenting on something simple like the weather. Meanwhile, Keith nearly chokes on his drink. 

“W-what?” He wheezes. It’s gruff, and he coughs over the words in a way that is very clearly unbefitting of the leader of the Blade. Ezor laughs, loud and bright. 

“You heard me,” she smirks. “You ever going to talk to him, or are you just going to stare at him all night?”

“I haven’t been... staring,” he frowns, but the bright red blush creeping into his cheeks says otherwise. 

“Zethrid bet you’d ask him before second sunset,” Ezor continues as if she hasn’t heard him. She laughs quietly, before speaking low under her breath, as if to herself. “Ha! Yeah right. It’s Red we’re talking about here. You wouldn’t be able to muster up the courage _ that _ fast.” She laughs again, playful and slightly patronizing, elbowing him in the side as if she literally wasn’t talking about him. Keith simply gapes. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Acxa bet you wouldn’t ask him at all. At least I gave you a chance.”

“There she is!” The loud, booming voice of Zethrid cuts through the open space above the crowd. Keith turns in the direction of her voice, and immediately spots her and Acxa barreling their way across the dance floor toward them (well… _ Zethrid _ is barreling towards them. Acxa is being pulled along by Zethrid by the arm, away from a laughing Veronica). “Ezor! We said no interfering!” she shouts again. Keith quickly turns to look at Ezor, incredulous, and she simply winks at him. 

“Whoops. Time to go,” she shrugs, nonchalant, and he feels that familiar, tiny _ whoosh _ of air again as she disappears into thin air... almost. 

An invisible grip jerks him forward, pulling him away from where he's been leaning against the pillar. He stumbles, completely caught off guard. “Ezor?!” He whisper shouts, and she laughs quiet and mischievous. 

Abruptly, Keith feels two hands shove into his back, and then he’s stumbling further into the courtyard. He focuses all of his efforts on trying not to spill his drink and dodging the many, _ many _ people before him as he tries to regain his balance. 

It's not until he thinks he's finally in the clear that Keith bumps into someone. The hand holding his drink bumps right into the exposed skin of their back, and it feels so warm under the cold skin of his fingers that he doesn’t immediately pull away.

“Ay!” Lance yelps. His entire body stiffens at the contact, and Keith pulls back as Lance turns around, fast and flushed. He frowns when he sees Keith, standing behind him with a cold drink in his hand. “Jeez, Keith. That drink is cold.” 

Keith stares at him lamely, eyes wide and processing. “I—” He was _ just _ with Ezor, but now, as he frantically looks around, she’s completely gone. He blushes, realizing all at once that this is _ exactly _ what Ezor wanted. He curses her under his breath, and Lance raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, Keith!” Allura peeks her head out from behind Lance with a dazzling smile, claps her hands together like she’s delighted to see him. She looks radiant, as always, adorned in stunning Altean armour fit only for a Queen, with her long, silver hair pinned up in an elegant bun just above her nape. “Lance was just telling me about how Kosmo snuck into your cargo hold last week.” At that, she giggles, light and bubbly, and _ man, _ does Keith ever feel guilty for staring daggers at her just five minutes prior. 

He laughs awkwardly, still not over the initial shock of being thrust into the situation. “He’s… a troublemaker alright,” he manages, and Allura smiles at him, sweet and warm and soft around the edges, before turning to look back at Lance. She puts her hand on his shoulder again.

“Lance, it’s been really good catching up with you,” she says, so clearly fond. “But… I should get back to Romelle. I can’t leave her alone with the Malakai ambassadors for too long, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” Lance puts his hand over hers, squeezes once.

“Nice seeing you, ‘lura. Glad you’re doing well.” She pecks him once on the cheek, soft and chaste, and then she steps back. The second Lance turns away, Allura catches Keith’s eye and holds it. She grins wide, winks, and then mouths the words _ “good luck,” _ before slipping away into the crowd. It leaves Keith utterly bewildered. 

Lance turns to face him with a grin, wide and crooked. “So… what’s up, Samurai?” Lance claps him on the arm before tipping his own drink to his lips, downing the last sip casually. Lance sets his empty drink on the bar, glances down at where Keith’s holding his and smiles. It’s nearly empty. 

“I’ll get you something, yeah?” 

“Oh, no, it's okay—” Keith starts, but Lance abruptly cuts him off with a wave of his hand and an eye roll. 

“Come on, Keith. We’re at the Coalition Gala. You need to relax every once and awhile, man.” It doesn’t matter either way, Keith sighs, because Lance is already waving down the bartender. He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on the bar top next to Lance's.

The bartender pours two new drinks in front of them, and Keith can’t tell if the liquid is blue or purple as the colours swirl together in the glasses. He garnishes them with red and purple looking berries and flowers Keith’s never seen, and for a moment, he marvels at the exotic looking beverages. 

Keith’s gaze doesn’t stay on their drinks for long, though, because the bartender’s currently _ staring _ at Lance, quite unabashedly, taking him in completely while he has the chance. Lance is oblivious to the attention he attracts, of course. Always has been. Keith tries not to let it bother him, but he’d be lying if he said he could get rid of the feeling completely. The way people stare, how their gazes look Lance up and down, sometimes without reserve and almost always lingering. 

Mostly, he hates the way it makes fire roll deep in his gut, hates how the feeling spreads angrily like poison through his veins like he has any right to be angry at all. 

First of all... how could Lance _ not _ attract attention? He’s brave and he’s beautiful and he’s captivating, and people are naturally drawn to him for it. Keith’s not even an exception to that rule. The second he laid eyes on Lance McClain as a young Garrison Cadet, he fell victim just as easily as anyone else. Like a moth drawn to a flame. 

Keith knows he’s being unreasonable, but he leans in a little closer to Lance, anyway. When Lance reaches forward to grab their drinks, Keith can’t help but zero in on the way the bartender doesn’t remove his hands from the glasses, letting his and Lance’s fingers brush together. Over Lance’s shoulder, Keith pointedly begins to glare at the bartender until he notices, startles, and has the good sense to move on. Lance doesn’t notice that either, of course. 

Keith’s still scowling when Lance turns to face him, drinks in hand. He’s flushed and grinning, until he sees Keith's face.

“Oh… I thought you liked fruity drinks?” Lance says, clearly dejected, and all the anger within Keith dissipates. 

“No… sorry, I do,” he says, quickly takes the drink from Lance’s outstretched hand. He’s a little flustered, but when he smiles, it’s sincere. “What did you get us?” Lance raises an eyebrow, chuckles under his breath at how fast Keith is to soften. 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t read the menu,” he smiles, playful, and Keith can’t help but laugh. 

“Alright,” he lifts his glass, holds it between them. “Cheers,” he says with a grin.

“Cheers,” Lance beams, and then their glasses clink. Keith tips his glass to his lips and takes a long, generous swig. The drink is cold and syrupy as it hits his lips, and Keith’s instantly reminded of blueberries when the taste hits his tongue. Like blueberries but… more bitter, he decides. The drink fizzles and pops like pop rocks in his mouth, and when he swallows, he feels it burn all the way down. It warms his blood almost instantly, settles like a smoldering ember in his belly.

“It… tastes pretty good, actually,” he says before he realizes, and then Lance is laughing. Keith smiles at the warm, bright sound, relishes in the fact that he brought it out of him, albeit by accident. 

“I think so, too,” Lance says, leaning his hip against the bar. His eyes turn fond, and he reaches out a hand to lift the braid resting against Keith’s chest plate. He’s silent for a moment, smiles as he runs his thumb up and down the smooth plait. “Veronica did a good job,” he says, letting the braid slip through his fingers. 

“Well, she learned from the best,” Keith manages, takes a long, slow sip of his drink. He tries to steal his nerves, but he can’t help but blush, especially in this heat, the drink still burning in his belly and clouding his mind. Subconsciously, he hooks a finger under his collar, tries to loosen the material in vain. Lance tuts under his breath.

“You _ had _ to wear the uniform,” he chides. “I told you it’d be hot. But no… you _ had _ to wear the uniform.” Keith scowls, and Lance snickers, nudges him lightly in the ribs. 

Keith doesn’t usually drink, and he’s quickly beginning to remember why. Lance seems totally fine, a little flushed, maybe, but he’s acting like his usual bubbly self. But Keith feels slow, hazy, and he can’t stop his eyes from wandering to Lance’s skin— it’s everywhere. The smooth line of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbones, the bend of his neck, the curve of his back. Up close and glowing under the honeyed light. 

He feels like a teenager again, sneaking glances at Lance on the castle ship before he’d even acknowledged how he felt. He’s almost giddy with it. 

God, he’s weak. 

Lance looks up at him, opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then his gaze catches on something over Keith's shoulder. He smiles, eyes widening a fraction, and Keith doesn’t know why until he feels someone slump hot and heavy over his shoulder from behind. 

“Keeeeeeeith,” he feels the tickle of Shiro’s breath against his neck as he whines, slings himself over his brother’s back like he isn’t twice his size. Keith hardly even flinches. “I haven’t seen you in foreveeeeer.” 

“Shiro, you smell like booze,” Keith states as Shiro promptly takes to rubbing his face against Keith's cheek, sloppy and affectionate. 

“There you are, Takashi,” he hears the light timber of Adam’s voice call from behind him. He sounds tired, slightly breathless as he approaches. “Don’t drink the blue stuff,” Adam flatlines once he reaches them, to which Lance casually raises his glass and winks.

“Too late,” he says, takes a long, hearty swig, and Shiro cheers from over his shoulder. 

“Keith… are you okay?” Adam asks as Shiro and Lance high five over him like he isn’t there. He simply sighs. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m used to thi—” 

“Keeeeeith,” Shiro cuts him off. “You need to visit the Garrison more. Your big brother misses you.” Shiro wraps his arms around his neck, hugs him just a little too tight. 

“Okay, okay,” Keith agrees, if only to get Shiro to stop squeezing. “What would your students say if they saw you like this?” 

“Are you kidding, they’d buy him another round,” Adam laughs. “Shiro, ease up, you’re going to strangle him.” Across from him, Lance tries to stifle a laugh. Keith can’t help but grin as well. 

He watches as Lance tips his drink to his lips, finishing the last of it with ease. Lance wipes his mouth with the back of his hand quickly, smiles at Keith when he catches his eyes. His lips are stained blue from the drink, and all Keith can think about is how much he wants to lean forward and taste them.

“Well, I should go,” Lance says, and Keith breaks out of his trance. “Let you guys catch up. I should say hi to Ver, anyway.” 

“Oh, okay,” Keith stammers uselessly, trying his best to not look as dejected as he feels. Lance simply laughs. 

“Nice seeing you, Shiro, Adam,” he waves at each of them in part before turning to face Keith once again. “Catch you later, Samurai,” he reaches forward, squeezes Keith’s arm, and then he's gone, disappeared into the crowd. 

“Oi!” Shiro suddenly shouts in his ear, and Keith cringes. “Lance is leaving, Keith! You're going to miss your chance! Go get hi—” he’s cut off by Keith’s hand quickly clamping over his mouth. Shiro’s eyes widen in drunk confusion and he immediately starts to squirm. 

“Shiro, I love you,” Keith hisses. “But I’m _ going _ to kill you.”

“Okay big guy, let’s get you some water,” Adam quickly interjects, reaches forward to shift a confused Shiro until he’s propped on his shoulders instead of Keith’s. He holds him sturdy to his side. 

“What?” Shiro asks clumsily. “But... I want to talk to Keith,” he huffs, and honest to God _ pouts_, puffing out his cheeks like he’s a little kid. Keith gapes, incredulous and a little bit offended, for some reason. 

“Keith is busy right now,” Adam cuts in, not unlike a stern parent. Shiro furrows his brows, shimmies out of Adam’s hold until he’s facing Keith. Keith raises a brow as his brother claps a firm hand on his shoulder, meets his eyes with a burning, strangely coherent gaze. 

“I’m glad things have been going well for you two,” Shiro says, smiling. “You deserve to be happy.” 

“Okay, okay, time to go,” Adam chuckles, grabs Shiro by the hand to pull him along. Shiro stumbles, a goofy grin returning to his face. 

“Bye Keith!” he waves, leaving Keith a strange mix of touched and irritated in his wake.

He finishes his drink in one, long swig. He’s definitely a little drunk, but the blue stuff can’t be as bad as Shiro and Adam are making him think, right?

____________________

Wrong. 

Three and a half more of those drinks later, and Keith is definitely, certifiably, indisputably _ drunk_. He flops on a barstool next to Romelle, sighing loud and dramatic. He’d just gotten dragged into a conversation with a group of aliens he’s never met before, and he can’t say for certain that he remembers any of it.

“I’ve never seen you so chatty,” Romelle teases, and Keith snorts.

“Honestly, I blame the blue stuff.” 

“Oh yeah. They had some at the Spring Equinox ball last year,” she flinches at the memory. “Never again…” 

“Oh ya?” That was when her and Allura had first started seeing each other. The thought has Keith grinning. “Made a good first impression with the Altean Royal Court?” Romelle blanches slightly, shakes her head.

“On second thought, gimme some of your drink…” she reaches forward but Keith lightly swats her hand away, snickering. 

“Oh yeah?” Romelle challenges, raises a brow in indignation. “Well, I don’t see _ you _ doing anything about _ your _ situation, hot shot.” 

Ouch. That one gets him. It’s late, all three of the planet’s suns having long set, and Keith has yet to see Lance again since they parted earlier in the evening. He… really did want to ask him to dance, at least once. 

Adding insult to injury, Keith had hoped that nightfall would make the air cooler, but, if anything, it feels warmer now than it did before. 

Too drunk to dedicate enough thought to his decorum, Keith sulks. 

“What situation?” he huffs. “Why does everyone keep acting like there’s a situation?” 

“Hmm. I don’t know,” she mocks, but it’s playful. “Maybe because we’ve all gotten tired of watching you two dance around each other.” 

“Yeah right,” he scoffs, busies himself by picking his drink up off the bar and taking a sip. Romelle raises one, perfectly-shaped brow. 

“You’re a wonder, Kogane,” she says, chuckling to herself.

Keith doesn’t really get it. And, at the moment, he’s too drunk to tell if the alcohol is the reason why, or if maybe… he’s missing something. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Keith chances a furtive glance at the dance floor from over his shoulder for about the 4th time since this conversation started, and everything around him fades away. He’s pretty sure Romelle’s still talking to him, but he doesn’t register what she’s saying because there’s _ Lance— _ making his way across the dance floor in all of his casual grace, looking as stunning as ever under the warm light.

At first, Keith’s heart soars. He smiles, gets ready to call Lance’s name, but then he sees something that makes him freeze. 

From the crowd, an alien slithers up from behind Lance and slides a hand around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. The alien is tall— thin and serpent like and dressed to the nines in what Keith can only compare to a well tailored suit. They lean down, dipping their head so that they can speak directly into Lance’s ear, and— _ ah. Here it comes. _

It’s all heat; pure, simple, instinctive. As if his blood were kerosene and his heart a match, every beat sends pure, unadulterated fire coursing through him. He’s usually able to control his emotions better, but the alcohol’s completely stolen his ability to do anything but _ feel_.

For the second time tonight, Keith’s reminded of why he rarely drinks.

He watches Lance stiffen, no doubt startled by the sudden contact. Keith can’t hear what they’re saying from this distance, but he _ can _ read their body language— and this alien isn’t letting Lance go. 

_ Lance can handle himself_, he tries to reason, but it does nothing to stifle the fire inside of him from raging on. The alien is just getting so _ close. _ They’re touchy and persistent and Lance is, by all means, handling himself just fine but Keith is still _ mad _ . No matter how much he tells himself that he shouldn’t be, that he has no _ right _ to be— watching some stranger _ touch _ him like that makes the alcohol boil in his blood. 

His entire being is screaming at him to _ move _ but he stays, knows, even through his anger, that he has no right to get in between them. But he wishes he could. Wishes so badly that he could give in to the fire, bound across the dance floor and rip that alien right off of Lance himself. 

Keith doesn’t even realize it when it happens. 

“—eith,” he hears, distantly, and he feels someone set their hand against his shoulder. “Keith?” They repeat, and this time it’s louder, sharper as it cuts through the haze. He turns, seeking the direction of the voice, and finds Romelle looking at him with blatant... _ concern_? 

_ Wait, what? _

He’s confused, so confused, and then he realizes that the dance floor around them has quieted as well. He stares at the crowd, and they stare back with the same confusion and panic in their expressions that Keith can feel rising up his own chest. 

“Keith…” Romelle speaks again, squeezes his shoulder once. It grounds him for a moment. “Are you okay?” 

It’s then that he registers the burning in his hand. 

Slowly, he looks down at where his forearm rests against the bar top. In his palm, there are shards of glass where his drink used to be. Glass covers the countertop and the dark, intimidating blue of his spilled drink drips from its sides and onto the floor. The drink mixes with the red hue of his blood, and the colour stands out in stark contrast against the pearly finish of the marble floor as it drips. _ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

As the burning pain of the alcohol against his cut skin fully registers, his hand starts to shake slightly. 

“Uh…”

“Keith?” Lance is the one who breaks the silence. 

Keith follows the sound of his voice without a second thought, looks toward the dance floor with wide eyes, and is greeted to the sight of Lance rushing over to them. When Lance meets his eyes, he pauses and, strangely enough, his expression… softens. 

Lance leans down slowly, taking the hem of his skirt in hand. 

“I… I don’t—” Keith stumbles, trying to find the right words to explain himself, but he stops short at the sound of tearing cloth. A few party-goers gasp around them, but then quickly turn away as if they weren’t just gawking in their direction. 

Lance rips a strip right along the bottom of his outfit and stands back up like it was the most casual thing in the world. All Keith does is gape.

“Good thing this fabric is so thin,” Lance chuckles. He steps forward, and Romelle pulls back, naturally making room for him. 

“_Lance! _ What are you—”

Lance shushes Keith under his breath, takes Keith’s hand in his and gently begins to wrap the white, shimmering fabric around his injury. “I’ll take him to the medic,” he says to Romelle, voice steady and calm and sounding every bit like the leader he’s always been. It makes Keith shiver. Romelle simply nods. 

Lance turns his attention back to Keith, and Romelle makes a point of meeting Keith’s gaze from behind his back. Her eyes travel from him, to Lance, and back again before she leans back, crosses her arms, and _ grins_. The devious kind of grin, the kind that says _ “Now’s your chance._”

Keith hardly has time to react, for Lance is already helping him up from his chair with a steady grip and a gentle hand. 

“You really need to work on your Galra strength,” Lance chides, but it’s playful. 

“Yeah… my Galra strength,” Keith agrees dumbly as he’s lead through the gala. 

He needs to get ahold of himself.

____________________

When the medic finishes dressing Keith’s hand, Lance promptly announces that he’s taking Keith back to his room. Normally, Keith would argue against it, but with his palm in this state... he can hardly make a case for himself. 

And thank God he’d agreed— as they make their way down the palace halls, away from the medic and chatter of the crowded gathering, Keith really, _ really _ begins to notice the effects of the alcohol. 

His entire body is too hot, and his cheeks are too warm. He feels sluggish with the heat and dizzy with their proximity, with Lance supporting his weight via an arm slung around his back. Even worse, to his chagrin, he keeps stumbling slightly as he walks, leaning further into Lance’s space as the room tilts on its axis. But, bless him, if Lance notices, he doesn’t let on— he takes Keith’s extra weight with ease, continues leading them straight down the halls as though Keith didn’t just step on his toes for the fourth time since they started walking. 

When they finally make it to the guest room the Malakai provided for him (as they did for all their guests), Keith sits at the side of the bed, loosening his collar as a bead of sweat travels the length of his temple. Lance goes around the room, immediately getting to work as he pours a glass of water using the container provided next to the sink, fishes the headache medicine from the side pocket of Keith’s bag before setting both on his nightstand. Keith watches him through hazy, lidded eyes, briefly wonders how Lance knew exactly where he packed his medicine. Although, he shouldn’t— Lance always paid attention. Lance _ always _ knew. 

Lance returns to Keith’s bag, sets himself slowly to his knees as he opens the main compartment. He starts talking about something, laughing, but Keith doesn’t register what he says as his sleeve slips slightly over the smooth arc of his shoulder. Keith can’t help the groan that escapes him.

“_Lance_,” he says, pleads, and Lance stops his cheery little story. In the silence, Keith takes in how ruffled and open Lance has become, no doubt due to the alcohol. He’s a little breathless, cheeks and shoulders flushed a deep pink, and Keith lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “You’re killing me.” 

Lance stiffens slightly. He looks up, meets Keith’s gaze. He’s wearing the same expression he always does when he’s confused— the pinched brows, the small, jut of his lower lip as he pouts. Lance doesn’t even know he does it, and to Keith, that makes it all the more endearing. 

“What do you mean?” he asks quietly. 

“_Killing me_,” Keith whispers, rests his head in his hands. 

“Keith,” Lance flatlines, and Keith hears him pause, hands stilling from where they’re half buried in his bag. “What are you talking about?” 

That’s a good question. What _ is _ he talking about?

He shifts slightly, and the bandage wound around his hand rubs against the skin of his temple. It makes him remember the way that alien had _ looked _ at Lance, predatory and hungry. How he’d _ touched _ him, unwilling to let him go. He remembers the bartender and his lingering glances, his lingering hands. All of it, he feels all of it at once, and it has him tensing. 

“I just don’t like the way people look at you,” he fumbles, disoriented and drunk and wide fucking open. Along with the alcohol in his veins, his mouth continues to run ahead of him. “You’re just… driving me crazy,” he whispers and holy _ shit _ he hopes Lance didn’t catch that. 

Lance is quiet for one long, drawn out moment. Keith hears him shuffle, but he doesn’t register that Lance is getting up and heading towards him until he’s already kneeling in front of Keith, sitting on his knees so that he can meet his eyes. 

“Keith?” He whispers, and Keith can hear the frown in his voice. He looks up at the sound, and oh, _ wow_, Lance has gotten so _ close_. Keith sucks in a breath and doesn’t release it, just stares at Lance, mouth slightly agape. He drinks in the sight of his flushed skin up close, now accompanied by the warmth of his presence and the cool, tingling feeling he gets whenever Lance’s bright, piercing eyes meet him directly. 

When Keith breathes out, his voice trembles slightly. “You… you…” he stumbles. His mind scrambles and his face heats, and the little hold he still has left on himself slips through his fingers. “You don’t understand what you do to people!” 

God, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. 

“What do I do to people?” Lance’s voice is low, quiet, as he speaks, and it surprises Keith. He can’t read it. 

It has him huffing in frustration. To this day, how Lance manages to be the smartest man he knows _ and _ the least self aware at the same time is beyond him. 

“Have you _ seen _ yourself lately?!” he patronizes, and Lance fixes him with a stare. A stare that says: _ Not today, Kogane. _

And, Lance’s right. He’s acting like a child. Keith sighs, defeated. He takes a moment to breathe in, slow and shaky, before he reaches forward and gingerly lifts Lance’s fallen sleeve back up to rest atop his shoulder. “God, what am I saying,” he mumbles between them, and Lance is so still. 

“You’re… drunk,” Lance supplies, voice gone soft.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I am.” And then, after a beat: “And you’re driving me crazy.”

“I am?” 

Keith frowns.

“You always are.” 

Somewhere, within the deep, ever reaching corners of his mind, sober Keith lets out an anguished yell. 

Drunk Keith ignores him, of course. 

“Sometimes I worry,” Keith continues, “That you make it so easy for someone to just... scoop you up and take you away.” 

For a moment, everything is still. The silence weighs heavy between them, so much so that Keith starts to fidget. 

Sober Keith digs himself a grave and steps inside. 

“If it’s so easy, then why haven’t you done it?” Lance asks simply, but it’s pointed, and, for the first time since their conversation started, Keith’s brain goes completely blank. 

“I—” he stops when Lance leans forward. 

“I’m not so easy to charm that I’ll let myself get swept away by the first pretty face I see,” he pokes Keith accusingly, playfully, in the chest, rises so that he can lean in close and whisper right next to his ear. “Or, maybe I am. Considering, after all this time, I’m still here putting up with you.” Keith processes the feeling of Lance’s warm breath against the shell of his ear and what he says separately. 

Lance pulls back, smiles something fond. He reaches a hand forward, runs his fingers along the heated expanse of Keith’s cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the curve of Keith’s jaw. His blue eyes follow his own motion as he smoothes the pad of his thumb over his skin.

“I think, maybe,” Lance continues, voice heavy. “You should worry about yourself more.” The low, throaty pitch of Lance’s voice sends a shiver running through him that he struggles to contain. 

“You’re the one who let me take you here, to your room, alone. All drunk and unsuspecting…” Lance lets his eyes trail over him, all of him, before he flits his gaze back up to meet Keith’s. “You let _me_ scoop you up and take you away, just like that.” Lance holds his gaze, pinning him in place. All Keith’s breath is stolen instantly. He’s suffocating in the silence and oh, by the Gods, Lance is so close to his face and his breath smells so sweet, just like that blueberry drink they’d all had. 

At his dumbfounded expression, Lance breaks into a playful grin. He draws back, releases Keith from his gaze, and pinches his cheek for good measure. Keith whines at the sting, and Lance laughs at the sound, at the resulting pout Keith makes as he rubs his reddening cheek. Lance pulls away completely, still smiling, before turning to walk back over to where Keith’s bag sits on the floor. He starts humming something under his breath, a tune Keith doesn’t recognize but still sounds like home coming from Lance’s mouth, somehow. And Keith just sits, dumbly, heart-aching with his hand still pressed against his cheek. 

“Would you let me?” he asks, startling them both by suddenly breaking their peaceful silence. Lance pauses. 

“Let you what?” 

“Scoop you up, take you away.” 

At that, Lance whips back around, and Keith makes a point not to meet his gaze. Instead, he chooses to focus on the wall behind him. 

“You asked... why I hadn’t done it yet,” he mumbles, hears Lance let out a breath. “And I want to know… would you let me?” 

When Lance doesn’t answer, Keith flicks his eyes back to meet him. Lance lets out a funny little laugh, dazed and fluttery, as he brings a hand up to rest against the dresser next to him like he needs the support. 

“Jesus, Keith,” he breathes. 

“I mean it.”

“You’re _ drunk_.”

“I’m serious.”

“Will you even remember this tomorrow?”

“I will,” Keith says, and he means it. He _ will_. He never forgets anything when it comes to Lance. Never. 

_ ( Unlike someone else Keith knows, who has a bad habit of forgetting certain bonding moments. But, Keith digresses. ) _

Across from him, Lance wavers, all bravado and teasing gone. 

“Where would you take me?” He asks quietly, after a long pause. 

“Anywhere.” Keith’s answer is immediate. There’s absolutely no hesitation, and Lance lets out this punched out little laugh. 

“What if... it's light years away?” 

“So we’d have to cross a few galaxies, no big deal.”

“What if... it’s hotter than Cuba?” Keith doesn’t do well in the heat, and Lance knows it. 

“I’ll bring a lot of sunscreen,” he shrugs, nonchalant. He wonders, briefly, if SPF would work under the light of another sun. 

“What if... it’s on an isolated planet, and the only person to talk to is me?” 

“That’s ideal, actually.” 

Lance chuckles. “I’d drive you crazy.” 

“You already do.” 

“Absolutely up the wall,” he emphasizes, starts stalking closer to Keith, some of his earlier playfulness back. “Until you can’t stand me anymore.” 

What he _ really _ can’t stand is being this close to Lance and not being able to _ touch _ him. Lance leans over him, so close that Keith can smell him now, coconut and the warm, enticing way the heat lingers on his skin. 

Lance places both hands on either side of Keith, pushing down on the bed so that he can crowd further into his space. Lance never breaks eye contact, and Keith is powerless to do anything but stare back at him. “What if... I said that if you swept me away, I wouldn’t let you get rid of me?” Lance whispers, and Keith shudders so deep he swears he can feel it in his bones.

Keith can’t get rid of Lance, not even if he tries. He knows because he _ has _ tried. 

When Keith left Team Voltron to join the BOM many years ago, he thought he’d be able to leave his feelings for Lance behind as well. But Lance had followed him, had followed him _ everywhere_— into his dreams, into flashbacks and visions from the abyss, even into his waking hours, when all was quiet. 

Now, Keith knows. He knows that Lance has a permanent home under his skin— so deep that, if someone were to try and dig him out, they’d have to dismantle all of Keith. 

“I couldn’t get rid of you, even if I tried,” he echoes aloud, and it earns him a slap on the side of his arm. Keith just laughs. “Trust me,” his voice goes quiet, and Lance looks down, bites at his lower lip. 

Keith isn't sure if it’s the moment or the alcohol, but he reaches upward, takes Lance’s face in his hands. “I wouldn’t want to,” he whispers, and Lance just stares at him. He stares and stares, eyes a little wide, searching and searching for _ something— _ and he must find it, because then, he dips forward. 

Keith isn’t sure what he was expecting Lance to do in response to him, but he definitely wasn’t anticipating _ this_. 

Lance closes the small gap between them, pushes Keith’s chest with the flat of his hand until Keith tips over, back bouncing against the mattress. 

_ Holy shit. Is this really happening? _

Lance is practically on top of him now, held up by knees that dip softly into the mattress on either side of Keith’s waist. 

_ Is he dead? _

Lance weaves his fingers through the hair at Keith’s nape, dips down close, so close, but stops with just enough room to look Keith right in the eyes. 

_ Did the alcohol kill him for real this time? _

Lance breathes out through his nose, keeps leaning closer and closer until his eyes flutter shut, and then, he’s pressing their lips together. 

For a second, Keith is utterly lost. Lost in the feeling of Lance against him, soft lips pressing hard. 

Lance pulls back slowly, takes in Keith’s face with drawn brows as if to judge his reaction. He’s being so careful, almost like he’s hesitant, holding back, or maybe... _ is he unsure of whether or not Keith wants this, too? _

The thought is almost enough to make Keith laugh out loud. 

Keith pitches forward, capturing Lance’s lips with new intensity, leaving no room for second guessing. His hands reach up to cradle the sides of Lance’s jaw, pull him down so that he’s leaning fully over him. He tastes exactly like Keith thought he would_— _ sweet and a little bitter, like the drinks they’d had earlier. But when Keith breathes through his nose, all he can smell, all he can taste, is salt and warm skin and _ Lance_, _ Lance, Lance_. 

Keith kisses him like a man starved, and Lance lets him. It feels like every nerve, every fibre of his being is attuned to the feeling of Lance’s warm mouth against his, like nothing else exists. Keith breaks them apart so that he can nip Lance’s lower lip, take it and roll it between his teeth. Lance sighs into his mouth, grants Keith access to it with a groan, and that’s _ it_. 

Keith flips them over with ease. It’s arguably the only graceful move he’s pulled all evening. But he doesn’t dwell on it, because now Lance is beneath him, chestnut curls disheveled and fanned across the white, satin-like sheets. Chest heaving, blush spread all over his chest, up is neck, to his cheeks. Lance’s eyes are half lidded and his lips are just a little bit swollen from Keith’s attention, and he’s honest to God the most beautiful thing Keith’s ever seen. And Keith has seen entire galaxies unfold right before his eyes.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lance grins. Usually, Keith would bite back with a retort, but none come. He simply stares. Under his gaze, Lance’s expression softens. “Keith…?”

At the sound of his own name, Keith startles slightly. He laughs, low and bewildered. “Yeah… yeah,” he says, the second as if to affirm himself. “Sorry, it’s just...” He lets his eyes comb over Lance’s face. The searching, blue of his eyes, the light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that mix with the glittering gold of the makeup he wears. Keith reaches forward and brushes a thumb, light as the fanning of a butterfly’s wing, across Lance’s bottom lip. “Wow,” he whispers, warm and reverent. He moves his hand to lightly rest against Lance’s cheek, and is surprised when he finds the skin there flushed deeper than before. 

Keith flits his eyes up to meet Lance’s, only to find that the boy beneath him has averted his gaze. “Lance…?” he asks, unable to stop the smile from creeping into his voice. 

Lance isn’t one to fluster. No matter the social situation, Keith’s never seen him escape anything short of completely unscathed and unphased. So this is… new. 

“Are you_—_” 

“_Hush!_” Lance cuts him off, turning his head to the side and pinching his eyes shut. “Just let me have this.” 

That… confuses Keith. 

“I’ve never seen you get so… flustered before,” he says, honestly. 

“You’ve never complimented me before,” Lance answers immediately. He doesn’t move, as if he’s expecting the sheets to somehow conceal the blush that continues to grow hotter and hotter up his neck, his cheeks, his ears. 

“What?” Keith sputters, indignance rising up his chest. “I compliment you all the time!” They work together, for Christ’s sake. Lance is good at what he does, amazing, in fact, and Keith never fails to let him know just how much his work is appreciated. 

Keith opens his mouth to argue the point further, but stops when Lance whispers: “_Not like this_.” It’s quiet, and there’s something vulnerable about it that makes Keith’s heart stutter in his chest. 

Keith leans down, nuzzles his nose lightly against the smooth skin of Lance’s exposed cheek. “Lance…” he whispers, coaxing. He travels up the sharp cut of Lance’s jaw, nuzzles into the soft skin right below his ear. “_Lance…_” He repeats, just as soft, before planting a lingering kiss to the skin there. Lance shivers beneath him. 

Lance opens one eye, glares at Keith with drawn brows. But, his gaze has no bite, and within moments it’s slipping away to reveal something softer. He breathes in deep, exhales with a long, drawn out sigh, before he turns his head back to face Keith. Lance just huffs, reaches upward to lightly tuck a loose strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. His touch is so gentle_— _ careful and delicate, like the illusion of Keith atop him might shatter if he isn’t careful. It conveys more to Keith than words ever could. 

Fingers wind their way through Keith’s hair, press firm against his nape before guiding him slowly back down. Lance doesn’t stop until Keith’s ear is right next to his mouth. 

“Come on then,” he says, breath hot and sweet against the shell of Keith’s ear. “Take me away, Samurai.” 

And Keith, unable to deny Lance anything, does exactly as he’s told.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I end this piece with an innuendo? Yes. Yes I did. (I plan on also writing a ~spicy~ continuation of this piece. Consider this... the SFW ending. ohohoho)
> 
> pls don't be afraid to comment! I'm like tinkerbell... if I don't get attention I'll die
> 
> \-- --- --  
Click [here](https://sleapea.carrd.co/) to find me elsewhere c:


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